


Escape

by makenalei



Series: Picture Prompts [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Gen, One Shot, Pictures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 18:46:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2358416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makenalei/pseuds/makenalei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She ran hard and fast from the Gates of the Moon, desperate to survive one more day. She had played the game for six long years, she wasn't about to let Petyr take her out now. She would survive. She would live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Escape

Winter was ending, the snow was melting, and her time in the Vale was coming to an end. Her brother's will had been discovered and she had not been named his heir. Her half brother turned cousin, Jon Snow, had been named heir to Winterfell, new King of the North. He was also heir to the Iron Throne after his Aunt, the formidable Dragon Queen. 

This turn of events rendered her useless in Petyr's ploys. She was worthless now, a liability. She knew the truth of his part in the game. She knew that he was responsible for killing her father. She knew that he played a part in Joffrey's death. He had killed so many in truth that she had lost track of them all. Lysa Arryn, pushed from the Moon door by his own hands. Robert Arryn, poisoned slowly with sweet-sleep. Jon Arryn, he had procured the tears of Lys for Lysa, had persuaded her to poison her own husband. 

And now it was her turn to be disposed of. She knew from the moment she woke up the day before that she had two options. She either gave up and joined her entire family in the afterlife, or she ran. She had spent six long, miserable, grief filled years playing this unwanted game, she wasn't about to give up now. She had to prove to Petyr that he hadn't won, that she wasn't going to be as easy to kill as the others. He had taught her everything he knew after all, she knew how to paly now.

So she met him in his bedchambers like she did every night. She wore a special dressing gown, it was paisley silk lined with golden trim. He had given it to her ages ago but she knew it was his favorite. She kissed him sweetly, rubbing herself against him as she grabbed the candlestick behind him.

“Cat” He moaned her mother’s name against her lips as he always did. It hardened her spine and she struck.

He never knew what hit him. He fell unconscious immediately, slumping down onto the bed.

She tied him to the bedposts, covering him so it looked like he was sleeping. She stuffed her stockings into his mouth and then secured that with his dressing gown tie.  Even if he woke earlier then planned, he wouldn’t be discovered until morning, and she would hopefully be far enough away by then.

Curious, she dumped the goblets of wine by his bedside into the flowers he kept. His goblet did nothing save stain the plant a reddish hue, but hers had the flower wilting and dead within a minute. It was a powerful poison he had chosen. She would have died instantly, not even realizing it until it was too late.

She slipped out of his room easily since he had dismissed his guards. Getting out of the castle was easy as well. They were still in Lord Royce’s household, the Eyrie still unreachable even as the snows melted. They were set to go back in a fortnight.

She slipped out between shifts, racing into the cover of the trees. No one called the alarm, no one even saw her.

 

She ran then and kept running. She had to make it to the Bloody Gate, where hopefully she would find allies. She knew Ser Donnel Waynwood held the gate, son of Lady Anya Waynwood. Lady Anya had fostered Ser Harold, whom Petyr had killed. She knew the woman distrusted Petyr and that she had an affinity for helping lost noble children, like Harold had been.

She ran until she couldn’t breath and then walked. When she caught her breath, she started running again. It was dark and she had only the moonlight to guide her. She found herself tripping and scraping against the brush as she went, but she kept going. She lost her cloak to a branch, but was too weary of a branch snapping to go back. She lost her shoe a few hours into her trip, but she couldn’t find it again.

It was cold and wet as she went but she did not feel it. Her blood was pumping too fast for it to affect her at the moment, though she knew she would feel it later if she survived this. Not only was she running from Petyr, but the Mountains were filled with clansman as well, dangerous outlaws that would love nothing more then a pretty little girl in a thin shift.

As the sun began to rise in the East, she began to tire. She had no idea how far she had gotten. She had stayed to the east of the High Road, though not very far from it. Her throat was parched and she was starving, but she had no provisions.

She heard a twig snap in the distance and she froze, looking around. She saw nothing but she heard another twig snap, so she ran. She ran hard and fast, her feet slipping against the melting snow she was running through.

She collapsed by a melting ravine filled with orange leaves from the forest. Her chest was heaving and her heart was racing. She listened carefully, but all was silent. She reached out for some water and froze.

“Do not move” The knight told her slowly, holding his sword out towards her. She backed away instinctively, struggling not to fall on her arse. She was at a disadvantage, crouched as she was, “We are not going to hurt you,” He spoke slowly with a faint accent she didn’t recognize.

“You’ll just bring me back to him” She accused, “He will kill me, ser”

“I know not what you speak of,” The knight replied. By now, a dozen others had joined him. They all carried banners of different Vale Houses. She recognized Royce, Corbrey, Waynwood, and Melcolm.

“I won’t let you take me back to him” She told him, pulling a dagger from her sleeve. She had stolen it from under Petyr’s pillow before she left. It was a beautiful Valayrian steel blade inlaid with rubies on its golden hilt.

“Put the dagger down, girl,” The knight warned.

“You’ll have to kill me,” She told him, meaning it. She would not be taken back to Petyr. He would have had time to rethink his plan to kill her and now he would be justified in doing do since she had attacked him.

 

“What is going on here?” A new horseman rode into the group. He flew a Targaryen banner, which surprised her for a moment. Petyr hadn’t declared for the new monarch yet. He had closed off the Vale to them. They were too busy cleaning up the capital and the Westerlands at the moment and the Vale had never declared for anyone in the past war. He had written a letter instead, pledging fealty and extending an invitation to visit the Vale once it was more accessible. They had fallen for it, or so she thought.

“We found her by the ravine, ser”

“And you thought you needed to draw your swords on the poor girl?” The man demanded, “She is barefoot, without a cloak, and soaked through from the snow. Did you even think of giving her your cloak?” The knight dismounted from his horse and unclasped his cloak.

“We are not going to harm you, my lady” The knight spoke clearly but softly as he passed her his black cloak. She took it greatly, pulling it around her shoulders. She noticed the clasp then. It was a silver direwolf.

“Jon” She whispered in disbelief. The man removed his helm, confirming her thoughts. It was him. He was older and a bit gaunter, but it was he. When she uttered his name, he squinted, trying to get a better look at her.

“My gods” He whispered, “It can’t be”

“Can you name me, Jon?” She questioned softly, pleading with him to speak her name.

 “Sansa” He whispered, cupping her cheek, “Sansa”

She broke down then, collapsing against her self. She brought her hands to her face as she wept tears of relief. A second later, his arms were around her, holding her close.

“You are safe now, Sansa” He whispered, “I promise”


End file.
